Unwanted Visiters
by Kaarie X
Summary: It's been nearly nine months since the gang was free from the Renisance Men.Things for them have been fairly okay.But someone in the gang has descovered what those men did to them & wants it fixed.Little did they know they were being watched as soon as they arrived. Horror/Supernatural/Angst/Humor/Tragedy/Crime.Sequal to I Don't Know You Anymore. Co-writer Minato4ever once again!
1. My Hand

It was dark out. The sounds of nearby wildlife could be heard crunching on leaves.

One squirrel in particular, however, had a tinge of curiosity overtake him when he sees a flickering light from the top window of an abandoned warehouse.

Using its natural agility and slim, sharp claws, it climbed its way to the window and observed the happenings from above.

A man in a long, dark cloak sat on a chair beside a small table with a single flickering candle lit. The man was playing with a stress ball between his fingers, rolling it around his knuckles, balancing it on the dip between his thumb and his index finger.

He stopped.

Everything in the room was still. He suddenly launched the ball at the squirrel in the window, hitting it dead on. The creature died upon impact.

The cloaked man took a sharp intake of breath and stood. He wrapped his index finger around the small handle on the candle holder and began walking around the room. As the man wandered about, the bodies of his former colleagues were illuminated by the flame's light. The man continued the stride around the massive room until he came to a stop at a certain corpse.

". . . Hmph." He smirked.

Looking up at the broken window, he spoke, "Hah hah ha. You may have killed all the others, leaving only myself behind. But there's something you forget, boys. As long as the Renaissance Men reside in your memories. We. Will. Live. ON!"

He turned back to the carcass on the floor. The carcass that was short. That had surgical wires along the frame of his face. That had huge red bags under its eyes. That appeared to be an eight year old boy. That looked exactly like the cloaked "man."

"I swear, I will rebuild the Renaissance Men, make it a stronger, wiser, and more elaborate than before! I will continue _and_ finish your mission to cut all ties to the people in your before life! I will use my bare hands to rip apart those who dared call you family! For our name is **Shakespeare**!"

* * *

Steve checked his watch then began rushing to replace the belt on his customer's motor. As soon as he finished, he slammed the hood closed, collected his money, then rushed inside. He flipped the sign on the door to the _**"Sorry, we're closed" **_side.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the back room and slowly opened the door. He flinched with every creak it caused. When the door was finally all the way open, he sighed in relief to see that his friend was undisturbed. He cleared his throat and whispered in a soft voice, "S-Soda?"

Said boy flinched in his seat, then he slowly turned in his friend's direction with his head still looking at the ground.

"I-It's time to see yer therapist, buddy."

Soda continued to stay rooted to his seat like a statue, his red-rimmed sleep deprived eyes staring at nothing. After a while of silence, he stands up with a hunch and walks over to his friend. Steve threw an arm over him cautiously and helped the younger walk to his car.

They drove in an tense silence. Every now and then, Steve would steal a glance at Soda's severely hunched over form. He finally broke the silence when he asked, "So. . . h-have you been making any progress?"

No answer.

The older sighed and refocused on the road ahead.

The therapist had become frustrated at this point since having these sessions with Sodapop. Most of the time, he'd just sit in silence, ignoring the doctor. Sometimes the boy would answer in short, senseless phrases. And other times he would talk to his hallucinations, which to the doctor, is the most annoying. This day in particular, sems to be, one of the short, senseless answer days.

"Soda, I need to know what's been going on this week so I can track you progress."

At first, it seemed like Soda was going to ignore him, but then he spoke, "I talked to Ponyboy yesterday. . ."

The doctor scribbled something down on his notepad. "Okay, and what did Ponyboy tell you?"

". . . He said. . . "I'm coming back for all of you, but. . . I'm not coming back. . ."

The therapist sighed and scribbled down on his notepad. "Alright Sodapop," He said with a sigh, "It looks like our time is up. I'll see you Friday, and when I do, I want you talking a lot more. . . Like I told you last time. Alright?"

Soda didn't answer, he just got up and left, slamming the door closed.

The therapist sighed. "Damn kids."

* * *

By the time the two made it to the Curtis house, the sun was setting. As usual, Soda plopped himself right down on the porch to watch while Steve went inside.

Steve reached into his pocket and took out his inhaler. He's needed one ever since the incident that ended eight months earlier, mainly because he was stationary beside a small gas leak for about three months. He's also been unable to feel his right hand. . .

He plopped himself down on a kitchen chair across from Dallas after fixing himself some chocolate cake. Dally lightly shaking from anxiety, as if he had something on his mind that he was aching to let out. The New Yorker watched as his friend took out a pill bottle and popped one large pill in his mouth and chased it down with a beer.

"Yer pills started working yet?" Dallas asked nervously.

"Naw. Still can't feel a damn thing in my hand. . ." He suddenly let out an aggravated growl and chucked his pills at the wall. "I don't fuckin' get it! What's wrong with me?" He pinched his right hand.

Nothing.

He pinched it harder.

Still nothing.

He grunted and reached for a nearby knife. Just when he was about to stab himself, Dally restrains him. " Calm down Steve! Stop it!"

Said man glared back at him, still trying to stab himself. When he was returned with a stern look, he threw the knife down and sat back in his chair. He sighed and closed his eyes, still fussing with his hand with no feeling.

". . .Alright!" Dally sighed, ". . . I know why yer not feeling anything in yer hand."

Steve looked at him with his mouth agape. He bit his bottom lip and cleared throat. "You knew. . ." He started with a voice shaking in anger, "_You knew _what's been goin' on with my hand and waited almost NINE MONTHS after we got outta that mess to tell me about it?" The blonde gulped and slowly nodded. ". . . Alright. . . Tell me, _now_."

Dally took a sharp intake of breath. "Well, I didn't actually see it happen, but they told me. Here it goes. . . That's not yer hand, they cut it off and replaced it."

The other male sneered. "The hell do ya mean they cut it off?"

"I mean they. . ." He sighed and grabbed his friend's hand. With one good tug, the strange glove came off and exposed the frame and wires of the artificial hand.

Steve gasped at this, but managed to hold back his shock. "S-So, it's still back. . ._ there_?" Dally nodded.

There was a long moment of silence. ". . . I think. . . I think I wanna go get it."

"No! NO! Hell no! We all swore that we'd never go back there!"

"I know! I know! I just. . ." The man sighed and rested his forehead on his fist.

". . . Fine. But, we have to take Soda, you know."

"Y-Yeah, but you can stay in the car with him while I go get it."

"I'm not goin' without somethin' sharp."

"Then it's decided: we're going tonight."

* * *

The rusty old truck bounced all around as it made its way down the bumpy dirt road. Sodapop was sleeping in the backseat curled up in a blanket, while the other two Greasers remained shaking in fear in the front. They were nearing the place of their nightmars, their personal Hell.

The rotting building was finally in sight. The two wide-awake men both took sharp breaths in.

"We're really going to do this." Steve said, "Or, at least I'm going to. . ."

"J-Just hurry up, alright? We don't want Soda waking up while we're still here."

Steve nodded in agreement.

The moment he exited the truck and placed his feet on the ground, fear crashed into him like a tidal wave. He gulpped.

"I-I'm going to do this."

* * *

It's a slow start, I know. But, I Don't Know You Anymore started off prtty slow too, didn't it?  
Here's le question. **Why is the name Shakesphere important?** This will earn you 8 choc-chip brownies. **[::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::]**


	2. Revisiting

welcome...  
The answer to the last question is..."you'll figure it out"  
the brownies go to Rachelle4eva might have been right, yet might not have. All that matters is that you had the best answer  
here you go! **[::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::]  
ONE MOAR THING! Sorry I forgot to mention in the last chapter that minato4ever is gonna be my co-writer again. ^-^**

* * *

Steve had already broken out into a cold sweat by the time he reached the red double-doors of the warehouse. He took a deep breath.

_Thump. . . Thump. . . Thump. . ._

The door creaked open with low moans echoing down the vacent halls. He remembered everything he saw the day everyone escaped. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the foliage that somehow found its way onto the walls.

The man took one more deep breath and stepped in.

* * *

Soda slowly opens his eyes, straining to see anything, only to find him in complete darkness. Panic started to rise up through Soda as he remembers what has happened to him before.

Calmly, he starts feeling around and clawing around the area around him desperately looking for a way out. He swung his hands up to the side to meet glass, and he suddenly realized he was in a car. He searched the bottom of the window and pulled the lock on the car ready to get out. He swung the car door open and was about to bolt when a hand grabbed him and tugged him back into the seat.

Terrified, Soda lets out an ear popping scream, and started to kick and punch wildly at the person who pulled him back.

"Soda! Soda! Chill out man!" the voice behind him said. Soda stopped and looked behind him wildly, to see the dark silhouette of what looked to be Dally. Dally pulled something close to his face, and a light illuminated the car.

Dally could see Soda, looking around wild and his eyes darting in every direction, he obviously was not too pleased to be here, but he wasn't freaking out as much as he thought he would.

"Dally... where are we?" Soda asks as he settles his eyes on Dally, relaxing slightly into he seat he was in.

Dally chose not to say anything, so not to freak Soda out. Impossible task, Soda was going to flip anyway.

"Dally…?"Soda asked again getting more and more tense as he is drawing a conclusion of where he may have ended up. His eyes go wide and his breathing starts to get shallow.

"You _didn't_! Please! Oh God! Please tell me you didn't bring me _there_!" Soda screams. Dally winces at the painful volume.

Soda jumps out of the car and looks around, and he saw it. Right there in front of him was the warehouse in all of its terrifying nostalgic glory.

Soda doesn't know what he should do, whether he should scream or run, so he went with running. He fled with all of his might to get out of sight of the warehouse, just knowing deep in his gut that something is going to go wrong.

Dally cursed under his breath and went to get Soda, his feet pounded heavily as he desperately tried to catch him, who ever said Ponyboy was the only fast Curtis was lying, because Dally could hardly catch up. He finally got close enough to jump on him and through Soda down onto the ground.

"No! Get off! You can't make me go back there! Not after what happened! Something is going to happen! I know it!"

"Soda! Calm down! We are here to cure ourselves, nothing is going to happen! All those bad guys are gone! Dead! They're all dead!"

"And Pony! So is he! He died right here too! I'm not going back there!"

"Soda! PLEASE! Think about what Pony would want! He wants you to get over him! Please think rationally!" Dally screams at him.

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW! PONY WOULD NEVER WANT ME TOO COME BACK HERE!" Soda explodes, his face turning bright red under the pressure.

"FUCK Pony for the minute, what about Two-Bit than? He'd want you to go in there, don't you think?"

"NO! NO! He wouldn't and don't say that about my BROTHER!"

Dally sighs, and collects himself. Obviously yelling wasn't going to solve anything. If Dally had been the same before this whole mess happened he would have beat the tar out of him.

"Soda, I'm sorry, but please calm down. I promise at any sign of danger you can leave." Soda seems to still want to fight but he relaxes. Dally lets him up off the ground now that he has calmed down.

* * *

The cloaked _"man"_ that murdered the poor, badly timed squirrel, watched from the shadows as the greaser tip-toed through the hallways, waving his flashlight like crazy whenever the smallest sound was produced. He ran a gloved hand over the seams on his forehead while contiplating a thought in his complex mind. "Hmm."

An unnerving smile spread across his face when a lightbulb had finally formed over his head. So he continued to lurk in the shhadows, watching as Steve meandered through the rotting hallways.

"Maybe," The _"man"_ thought, "Maybe I should make it easier for him. After all, that hand is the one of the only things left I haven't had yet. . ." And with that said, he vanished down the hall.

The _"man"_ flew up three flights of stairs, zipped down hallways of pure black, and forced his way through a door that was rusted shut. He paced through the room that held a sickening green aura filled with oily black shelves that were running low on their stock of human parts. He skimmed through the lables on the jars of the section marked as _Hands_. It was then that he found what he was looking for.

"_Steven Randal_."

Not wanting to waste anymore time lingering there, he held the jar firmly to his chest and ran as fast as possible. Through the petrifying darkness he went, scatterng groups of rodents, splashing through puddles, knocking items off tables with just the sheer force of the wind trying to match his speed.

_"Where shall I even put this when I find him?"_ He thought. The notion was so important to him, he had to stop just to think about it. That's when it hit him. "_That room. . ."_ He thought as he took off again.

More groups of rodennts scattered, more puddles splashed, more items knocked over, and he was there. He stared at the golden double-doors before; the very doors that guarded the very beginning of the nightmare the gang of greasers went through. He kicked the doors open and rushed inside. Quickly looking through the lables on the bed, he found theone marked "Steven Randal" and placed the jar on it. Apon leaving the room, he left one of the doors open to be sure the other man wondering the building would find it, and hid in the shadows once more.

* * *

Steve swallowed yet another thick lump in his throte when a small animal splashed through a puddle. "I swear," He thought, "I don't find anything in the next three minutes, I'm out."

Just then, a loud bang explodes through the thick air and he takes off through the halls. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he had to keep moving. Even when his legs became sore, even when his lungs caught on fire, he continued on. It was only when he started recognizing his surroundings when he stopped.

"Wait. . ." He survyed his surroundings one more time to confirm his suspicions. "If that's there, then that one room should be somewhere near here. . . Maybe my hand will be. . ." With that thought in mind he carefully crept down the long corridor searing for the correct room. Then he finally arrived at those golden double-doors. He didn't even give it a second thought when he saw that one of the doors were left open. Sure enough, a jar containing a hand labled "Steven Randal" was resting on the very bed he was kept on during his time in the large, prison-like warehouse. Quickly, he snatched the jar off the bed and took off at the speed of light.

Had he been in any other situation, he would of thought twice, pondering thoughts such as, "Why would it be convieniently right there?" But in this situation, thinking logically was an inability.

When the Greaser had finally made it back to the truck, Soda was shaking and crying in the back seat. Dallas gave him a look that said, "We need to leave, now." To which he agreed.

After starting up the car and turning around on the trail, Steve felt a shakey fist hit him in his should. "Agh! S-Soda, why'd you do that?"

"'Cause you brought me back here! You know I'd never wanna come back here. Why'd you do it. . .? Why?"

The driver sighed. "I'm sorry Soda, it's just that. . . Look, I'll tell you when you start feeling better - tomorrow, okay?"

The younger man gave him a glare, but remained silent. If only Darry had come home earlier so they wouldn't have to bring Soda. If only Soda had slept more soundly. If only had comforted him better. . .

If only they'd known they were being followed. . .

* * *

Ahhahah... Sorry for the long wait, but we had some technological difficuties =w=  
Okay, HERE'S THE QUESTION!** Can Kaarie X write a good tension building story?.** . . HA! That's not really the question, feel free to answer it though...  
HERE'S THE REAL QUESTION! **What will Shakspear do? Reward is fifteen choc chip brownies**.** [::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::]**


	3. The Message

Hey everybody, this isn't the next chapter, I know, but I wanted to tell you guys to check out my cousin's first story for here. It's an origional Misc. Anime/Manga by the both of us and we're being assisted by Minato4ever. The name of the story is "The Beginning of the Six."

So anyway, please check it out and be sure to tell him what you think and how good he's doing. (Or rather, how good _I'm_ doing. =w=)

Oh, and his name is Jake H.

Thank you.


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